But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air.

When he speaks,The air, a chartered libertine, is still.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun.

To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair:Hover through the fog and filthy air.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.